


if i were a sculptor

by chopslouey



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, BUT NO CHARACTER DEATHS I PROM, Chaptered, College, Comfort, Dom Louis, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt, Incomplete, M/M, More 5k, Oneshot, Protective Louis, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape Warning, Recovery, Sad, Sad Harry, Sad Zayn, Self Harm, Sub Harry, Substance Abuse, Suicide Trigger, THIS PROBS SUCKS, University age, Victim Blaming, as the once-dynamic duo, but only platonically, damage, estranged zayn, hurt to comfort, more 10k, suicide warning, tragic, zouis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chopslouey/pseuds/chopslouey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry has bees in his ears and a dirty secret in his blood. louis has a shitty apartment and a chisel. they meet under all the wrong circumstances.</p><p>inspired by an Emily Dickinson poem, #372. the lines in each chapter summary are more or less the emotional plot to my story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. jagged marble

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning! there's no physical self-harm in this fic, but there is mental self-destruction tagged along with rape victim-blaming. so if any of you lovely people find these things triggering, please be aware and careful if you continue to read. thank you, i hope it's not a too terrible waste of your time :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after a great pain,

blackness. a million bees. numb lips. frantic fingers. stifled breath. ripped clothes. wet cheeks. no. no no no. it wasn't coming through his mouth but it was coming through his resisting arms. the room is spinning, it's upside down. hot coals on his stomach and below his waistline. heart clotting his throat, sweat soaking his hair. his body is yelling 'no' but his tongue is rock. surely someone can hear him, he's banging the walls with the heels of his palms. someone has to hear him. terror has his muscles, shock and fear and pain are white hot in his pupils. the alcohol is on fire in his brain, he can't think past the burn.

he's smothered by greed, there are teeth at his ear and fists of ruthlessness around his wrists. a solid torso commands him, a stiff desire doesn't ask. he's tossed and pinned and smothered to the beat of the music outside the room. he's fighting, or at least he thinks he is. vaguely, he can feel himself pushing back. he thinks. he's moving in slow motion, but the man on top of him is not.

harry is drunk, but the man on top of him is not.

the party raging on the other side of the door offers no help. there isn't a lock on the door, not even a sign. but harry is trapped under intrusive limbs and the rest of his school can't hear it over the battle cry of another summer. he is someone else's reward, someone else's celebration tonight. he's been fighting for what seems like ages, and if harry's blood-alcohol level allowed him to form words, he'd be begging.

suddenly, light appears. but not The White Light and not even the ceiling light. red and blue light outside the window, flashing in synch with blazing sirens. because it's a frat party; the bass is louder than the music itself and sophomores are unconscious on the lawn. it's the police and they're here to stop the party. they're gonna clear the house and the aggressor has stopped touching harry altogether and is now running out of the room.

harry doesn't think he's still breathing. he's surely dead. his final breath was a cry for salvation, his final form a mutilated pile of bones, eyes open and forever full of watery torture. that's how they'll find him; dirty and used. goodbye caught in his throat, blood frozen in alcohol. harry feels his soul begin to shed tears but physically, nothing feels nothing.

"hey, is someone in here?" a voice comes, a single minute too late to be a hero. harry can't speak up, he can't even groan. he thinks he's dead. he can't hear his own accelerated heartbeat, can't feel its pounding. surely harry is ascending and that velvet voice is an angel. he's sure this is it.

the boy in the doorway is about to bolt, when he sees harry's silhouette under the window. "hello?" the boy takes two steps inside. he can hear harry's breath and see his crumpled form on the bed. he can smell it in the air. there's a brick in his stomach, and there are voices outside that don't belong to friends. this is anything but good. so he goes towards the boy and prays to god he isn't heavy.

"i'm louis, and we really need to leave. i'm gonna pick you up, tell me if you're hurt or else i'm gonna move fast." louis grabs at what he thinks is the boys waist and earns a whimper. jesus, louis winces. "sorry, sorry, we gotta go though, okay?" louis tries again, because the cops outside won't be outside for long. there's another moan but louis doesn't give up until the boy is in sitting position. he's dead weight in louis' arms and he's not wearing pants, at all. another brick sinks in louis' stomach. louis grabs at a lucky bundle on the bed and it turns out to be the boy's boxers, wrapped up in his jeans. he dresses the boy at the speed of light and throws an arm around his back.

somehow, louis gets this boy into the backyard. thankfully, the lot belongs to the biggest fraternity on campus. the cops aren't in the back yet, but they're coming. thankfully, louis parked close. thankfully, the boy fits right into louis' side and is easy to carry.

louis drops the boy into his passenger seat, straddling him to get the seatbelt buckled. he slams the door and slides across the hood. his car is started, sputtering, and speeding away within seconds. louis takes the back way out of the neighborhood, careful to avoid commotion. when he's put enough distance between the party and the worn tires of his BMW, louis pulls into a parking lot. the boy is sobering up, tears silently creeping down his face, and he might need a bucket.

he takes one of his empty water jugs from last night's footie practice and sets it on the console; "just in case,". the boy doesn't respond, eyes distant and parted lips collecting his wet sorrows. his dramatic eyelashes are clumped and his midnight curls are disheveled. streams of red are splashed across his shoulders, bruises litter his stomach. and despite it all, the boy is so beautiful. louis' heart constricts with sadness.

with a start, louis breaks his stare and gets out of the car. he digs in the trunk for something the boy can wear. he surfaces with an old t-shirt of his dad's, holding it up for scale. he figures it to be long enough and only slightly dirty. louis considers his options and decides to put it on the kid himself. so he opens the passenger door and kneels on the ground. "got you a shirt to wear for now." louis tells him, though he might as well have said nothing. the boy doesn't blink.

louis props up on the edge of the seat and wiggles the shirt onto the boy's body. he is so, so careful where he put his fingers. tenderly, like he's wrapping glass, louis maneuvers the boy's body through until the shirt sits comfortably on him. he sighs and watches the still boy. even in the shadows of the street lamp, louis can see the fear.

"i'm gonna go in your pocket and get your wallet, yeah?" louis slowly slides the lump out from the boy's pocket and finds his driver's license. harry styles, organ donor, 19. louis closes the wallet and sets it in his cupholder. "did you leave anything at the party?" the boy, harry, doesn't reply. louis tries again. "a phone, car keys?" harry is not dead, though, so he shakes his head slightly. a sharp jolt shoots up his spine, blasting his brain, but harry doesn't even flinch. "were you alone? could someone be looking for you?" louis has had plenty of experience getting drunk friends home, but this. this is different.

harry looks at louis, and louis feels like he's drowning in a storm brewing emerald waves. harry shakes his head again, unable to find his voice in his raw throat, with mouth dry and lips throbbing. louis bites the inside of his cheek. you're never supposed to party alone; he knew that from experience. but he's never had this experience before. louis doesn't know what to do.

there's a suffocating silence that dents the car. words are hanging in the air, pressed against the windows and squeezing both of them. it's so quiet that harry can't speak and louis can't hear.

louis isn't sure how to ask the question, but he knows he needs to ask it. they can't sit in the parking lot forever. "do you know who it was?" it's barely a whisper. but it's loud enough to make it all real.

"yeah," wavering, defeated, violated. one syllable, pregnant with anguish. it's written all over him, like a tattoo deep enough to ink his bones. it's infecting him, trembling beneath his skin. louis is waiting for an explosion. when it doesn't come, louis leaves the passenger seat and drives harry home.

\-------

they don't go to harry's dorm. even if louis knew where it was, he wouldn't consider the option. they go to louis' apartment, dangling off the edge of campus, where the street is as quiet as the broken car radio. louis pulls into his parking spot and assesses harry again. he's worried harry is a ticking time bomb, and to touch would be to detonate.

"you can sleep here tonight." louis removes the key from the ignition and listens for a negative response. harry gives none. "are you okay with that? i'll stay on the couch." louis bargains; he doesn't want to take harry's silence as consent. harry nods the smallest affirmation louis' ever received, but it's a distinct yes. so louis takes harry around the waist and leads him to the third floor.

\--------

harry becomes responsive when louis eases him into bed. as louis unbuttons harry's jeans, harry's hands twitch and his breathing hardens. "i'm getting you sweats to sleep in, it's okay. i'm not... i'm not going to do anything," louis has to confirm, and the words are like bile scraping his teeth.

harry stills, but the tornado in his eyes leaves a wake of destruction. harry is so, so tired. and this louis rescued him, and now he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and there is something so domestic in this stranger that harry starts to cry again. his chest starts to heave with recognition; it all snaps. reality plunges into his chest. his fingers have frostbite and the weight flattens his muscles.

harry's entirety is shaking with intensity and he thinks his tears might drown his lungs. the bed is rock beneath his back, blazing against his arctic skin. he feels one big, overwhelming hurt pulsing through his blood. and louis watches as harry is eaten alive.

louis can't just sit and watch, though. he slips out of the bedroom to get water and pills but the thought of leaving harry alone in yet someone else's bed makes him hurry. harry's sobs fill the background, and louis almost overflows the cup listening to the mountains rumble. louis fumbles around for the pill bottle. he grabs two tablets and returns.

under the dim light of the lamp, louis tilts harry's head up and gets him to swallow the pills. "it's your bed until you don't want it. i'll be through this door if you need anything." louis' words struggle in between harry's heaving.

louis uses the bed to help stand, but before he can leave, something shocks his wrist. louis looks down and finds the icy sensation to be harry's fingers. harry has just barely reached towards louis, enough to brush the tips of his fingers across louis' skin. it feels like the cells on harry's hand are begging for something to hold onto.

the room fades to darkness. the lamp buzzes slightly as it powers down and harry feels the bees in his ears again. the other side of the bed dips down and the covers rustle and a sudden warmth radiates towards him. two hands are reaching out for him, but they immediately find and rest at his back. harry is pulled into louis' chest and his head is tucked under louis' chin. he's being consumed again, but louis' warmth isn't searing his skin. it's just enough to remind him he's alive and keep the bees at bay.

louis holds harry, and the larger boy surrenders into him. harry wraps his fingers in louis' shirt and digs his toes in between louis' calves. they're mushed together as if it's a nightly routine, and it should be indescribably awkward. instead, it's just really sad.

eventually, after an torturing spell of sniffles, harry topples over the edge of consciousness. louis untangles his fingers from the twilight forest of curls and slips out of bed. he tiptoes into the kitchen again to find his phone and nurse his own worsening hangover.

with a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other, louis settles into the corner of his sofa and opens his texts. he prays to everything and anything that liam is still awake. his prayers are answered within thirty seconds, the notification like the trumpets of heaven.

_liam i need help_

_i already told you im not doing anything else illegal with you_

it would have been funny and only slightly annoying, if louis didn't have a rape victim in the other room. louis downs the water and places the sweating glass on the coffee table.

_im not the criminal this time. can you come over?_

_if the front door is booby trapped i'm calling your mom and telling her you tried to sell me drugs._ louis laughs at that, breathily, as if he had to sneak it. louis isn't a drug dealer, nor a criminal, but the image of liam having that conversation with his mom is humorous. louis taps out a quick thank you and goes to check on harry again.

the poor boy is still, his breaths slow and steady, blankets bunched around his shoulders. it doesn't look like harry will be waking up any time soon, and louis' absence doesn't seem to have caused problems. liam has a good 10 minute walk ahead of him, so louis sits against the wall near the door to wait.

\--------

the door knob rattles in roughly 12 minutes, and then the door cracks open. liam pokes his head in and a blast of concern rushes in with him. "what the hell you've got all your lights out for?" he jokes, but his voice is heedful. liam senses the low ceiling and his pride ducks to meet his best friend's thoughts. liam opens the door wider and steps inside, pocketing his key.

"yeah that's kinda what i need you for." louis mumbles, standing to close the door and locking it all in one swift motion. liam's got his phone lit up, pointing the bright screen at louis' face. the slant in louis' words drops something heavy in liam's stomach.

"i assume you're not talking about electricity." liam frowns carefully, and louis shakes his head. liam waits in anticipating silence for louis to continue.

"there's a boy, harry, in my bed right now-" louis puts a hand up to silence what he knew was coming, and finishes his sentence. "and i found him at a party tonight. someone raped him."

beat.

"holy shit, lou." liam breathes as his phone light fades to blackness.

"i don't know what to do." louis hesitates, and liam's arms are around his shoulders and pulling his head into his chest. louis grips liam's waist, searching for answers in the hem of his t-shirt. "should i call someone?" louis mouths into liam's neck, though he already knows he shouldn't.

"no. no, don't call anyone. you need to talk to him first, he might not want the drama."

"he won't talk, though. he just cries, and shakes and a lot of other terrible things." louis thinks the choked sound of harry's pain is going to haunt his dreams. liam gropes in the dark until he finds louis' hands, leading the two through the shadows into the living room. they effortlessly find louis' couch, falling into its cushions while avoiding the chaffed spots.

"who did it, you know, who-" liam falters because the word is sizzling on his tongue and he's afraid to spit flames.

"he won't say. i saw whoever it was bust ass when the cops came, but not his face, just that he left the door open and no one followed him out." louis struggles to remember the features of the man who'd done this to harry. between the booze in his stomach, the smoky air in the house, and the frenzy of the police, louis' memory is wiped.

louis can feel liam nodding, hear liam's thoughts exploding through his ear canals. louis continues, hoping the details will spell out some solution. "i knew he couldn't have been alone, not at a party. so i went in and almost didn't see harry on the bed. he wasn't moving, and it smelled like sex." louis winces at the memory, "thought he was dead until he started wheezing or something, and i knew something was wrong." louis feels like he'd just run a marathon, or at least he's breathing like he had. the story dangles in the air as liam slowly chews each piece.

"damn. did harry say anything to you afterwards? where's he at right now, in his head?"

"harry knows who it was. but he didn't give me a name, and i didn't ask." louis deflates against the back of the couch. he pushes out a sigh, but it doesn't make his chest feel any lighter. "he's seriously hurt, liam." louis trails off thinking of ceramic skin breaking from within.

"we can deal with that in the morning," liam states with a lone wave of confidence. he'd sit here all night, really, if he had to. but neither of them could do anything with harry asleep, and liam has a big day at work pending for tomorrow. "just wait until he wakes up, get him some breakfast. don't attack him with questions. let him start the conversation. if you need me, call."

louis is aware, somewhere in his subconsciousness, that liam's testing for a promotion at his job within the next week, so he lets the boy go without a fight. he quickly follows his tall friend out with a grateful cookie, to thank liam for coming. and when the front door is locked behind him, louis decides it's probably wise to sleep.

true to his word, louis stuffs the couch with ratted blankets until it resembles a bed. he props up a pillow, a proud and new purchase, against the arm rest and sinks in. there are spring coils digging into his hips and his blanket was knit for a thirteen year old, but louis chants his concerns into a lullabye and disappears eventually.

it's the silence that startles him awake a few hours later.

\-----

the sun is fighting with the curtains, and the clock on the microwave is demanding consciousness, but neither of those is what stirs louis' brain the next morning. it's the dead silence that blasts his ears and shoots a throbbing pain through his head. it's a hangover, and it's also tragedy.

louis forces his eyes open at 11:47 to nothing. his front door is still secure, his kitchen sounds empty, and the play station isn't powered on. he guesses that it's most likely a saturday, and the conclusion sparks more confusion. where is niall? he already knows where liam is, and he's long since stopped wondering where zayn could be-

suddenly, it's not nothing. louis remembers who's in his bedroom and why he's curled up on the couch and why his friends haven't barged into his apartment for their weekly bro time. his brain oozes out of his ears because he remembers he should have gotten breakfast for harry and what if harry left?

louis summons his superhuman abilities and shoves his sour headache to the most forgetful part of his brain. he walks heavily, heels stubbing the wooden floor with every step. at some point under the cover of night, the couch ate louis' socks. he stumbles to his bedroom door and peeks his head inside. he's met with a rich sunlight filtering through his thin curtains. harry's sitting up in bed like he was born to blend into darkness.

harry's folded form looks too small, and louis' headache knocks at the front of his brain. it could be harry's eyelashes and the way they run for miles. it could be the rotten remains of tequila eating his liver, but it's probably harry.

"i uh, i was just going for breakfast. do you want anything?" louis speaks to no one. desolate ponds of shocking green have still waters. wine-dipped lips are frozen. harry doesn't even twitch. "well, um, the closest place is mcdonalds so i'll get you a sandwich,"

louis closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. he practically tiptoes into the kitchen to find his car keys, wallet and phone. when he locks the front door behind him, he tries the handle just to be safe. louis has never been one for double checking, he's usually more of a fuck-it-it's-fine kind of person. just not today.

he settles into the drivers seat of his loyal vehicle and pulls out into the sunlight. louis' mind flutters for the smallest, tiniest fraction of a half of a second back to harry. oppressed by silence, afraid of noise, weary of touch but needing comfort. louis decides in that moment (which was a little longer than he'd like to admit), to get harry all the breakfast sandwiches.

he stumbles back into his apartment, key dangling in one hand and a bulging bag of mcdonalds in the other, half an hour later. louis pushes his bedroom door open with hesitant hands and steps inside. harry is still bent over himself, in a sort of dejected knot, torso only moving to breathe. the feather-haired boy in the doorway feels a soreness in his neck from whiplash. last night, harry was a tsunami; receding for air to crash into louis' chest with something harder. this morning, harry had evaporated into rock.

"hey harry," louis greets with the informality of friends. he's always been one for alleviating situations, so he tries his hand once more. "i got you a sandwich. well, actually i got you all the sandwiches. i didn't know which one you'd like, so uh, you can take whichever." louis walks over to the side of the bed, rolls down the top of the paper bag and sets it on the nightstand. because quiet makes him fidgety, louis locates another pair of sweatpants and a shirt for harry. he folds them on the bathroom counter, along with a towel, boxers, and fuzzy socks. never too hot for those.

"the shower's open if you want. all the stuff is in the bathroom. i'll be on the couch if you need something." louis feels like he's intruding, even though harry's in louis' bed. so he walks out and sits on the couch for a good five minutes, before he realizes he should probably do something. so he turns on the tv, volume low, and gets out a book.

louis pretends to be reading for the rest of the hour, flipping through the pages without looking at the words. liam's advice keeps weighing his tongue down, though his teeth are biting to say something (louis is notoriously famous for his bluntness). he remains settled in the corner of the couch only after tucking his toes into the cushions as an anchor. as the clock drags itself forward, the sun starts to glare into the living room. when louis stretches towards the window to close the curtains, he feels a presence shift behind him.

fairy-tale-blue eyes float towards rough-forest-green and the sunlight catches harry's skin with an approving sparkle. it makes louis' mouth go dry. there's something in the easy way harry's lips curve into his cheeks that hints at adventure. but that flare doesn't spark behind his eyes.

"d'you find something you liked?" louis makes room for harry to join him on the couch, and harry takes the implied offer. he moves robotically from the hallway and falls into the sofa. the puffy shadows hogging harry's eyes explode against his fragile skin, like they're shouting at louis to do something. louis swallows the shot of guilt that rushes down his throat, and tells himself it's not his fault. he's gonna fix it, though. somehow.

harry replies this time. it takes a couple of coughs to warm up his tongue and fire up his lips. but his eyebrows are bent towards answering, so louis waits. "you didn't have to get me every sandwich." harry mumbles. he's not meeting louis' eyes, keeping his posture rigid against the couch cushions. however, louis isn't discouraged.

"but did you find one you liked?" louis presses in with a light tone, feeling for entrances to harry's brain. he wants to prod, softly of course, around harry's exterior to find the holes he's willing to leave open. harry hesitates and can't believe that his mouth tried to smile at the question.

"yeah" it's still there, the ice that's frantically trying to numb harry's pain and disconnect his emotions. it's still lacing his words. louis can feel the chill marinate in his skin and harry's gums sting with it. 

"then i did have to." louis tests a smile, and it feels right, so he lets it grow and hopes harry accepts the warmth. "i have a friend who works there, he gave me half of them for free anyways." just so harry doesn't feel bad, because that's the opposite of what louis is trying to do. harry nods at that, but doesn't offer further conversation. anxiety bubbles in louis' stomach. he doesn't want harry to fall back into the shadowy place he just surfaced from. but he has no choice; he has to know.

"so, can we talk about what happened last night?" louis isn't really sure how to dance around the subject, or how to introduce it gently. he wishes he did when he sees harry's pupils swallow the color in his eyes. harry doesn't answer, but it's not because he can't. he just doesn't want to.

"i'm not trying to make you upset or anything. i just-" louis has never had so much trouble getting his point across. "i want to help? i-"

"i don't need help." harry defends, and if he had enough energy, he would have made it accusing. louis nods, but it's clear he's not done bringing it up. harry feels like he's caving in on himself while simultaneously exploding into a million pieces.

"well it's okay if you do, or if you don't. but i uh, i don't think that i should leave you alone with everything." louis rushes his words out when he gets a good grip on the sentence. harry soaks them in and turns them over in his mind.

_he felt so alive, limbs flinging wildly around his sweating body and lyrics pouring out his raspberry lips. the music was vibrating his heart and the flashing lights reflected in his eyes. the alcohol sloshed around in his cup, spilling out every time harry tried to sip some of it. for ease, he just downed the whole thing in one go. he was on fire._

_"this is your song, isn't it?" a voice appeared in front of him, and harry instantly lit up. he reached out and grabbed the man's shoulders with vigor._

_"THIS IS MY FUCKING FAVORITE FUCKING SONG EVER! FUCK!" harry shouted louder than he needed to, but his fingers were tingling with excitement and the guitar in this song was enough to get him high. the man, jacob laughed, a familiar and low chuckle, and he grabbed harry back._

_"THEN LET ME FUCKING DANCE WITH YOU!" and so they did. they jumped and swung their heads and because harry was shitfaced, they swirled their hips around each other. it was friendly. grinding in a line of people, spinning around like wasted ballerinas, yelling nonsense at each other. four songs later, hands gripped harry's waist. but it was fine, because jacob was straight and it didn't mean anything. when the grinding line dispersed, and jacob kept on, harry let it go and blamed it on the drinks._

_but when wet lips brushed harry's neck, it started to mean something. harry shoved jacob away, because jacob had a girlfriend and this was wrong and harry didn't want this. except harry's vision was colored by alcohol, and his arms lacked force, and his words were incoherent. jacob mouthed his way up harry's neck to chew at his jaw. to pull on his lips, lick at his teeth, lock a fist his hair and slip the other down his pants. to lead a stumbling, fumbling, mumbling and blubbering harry away from the bloodshot eyes of the college kids around them. to push harry into a dark room, to slam his head into the wall and rip his clothes off and-_

"harry?" louis' voice anchors harry back into the present. the line of sweat beading on his hairline begins to cool.

harry blinks away the haze and stares at louis' nose to keep the vomit in his stomach. it's a button one that scrunches just a little when he talks. "sorry."

"no, it's okay." hesitation. "do you want me to call someone?"

an immediate "no!"

"but harry-"

"please no-"

"he shouldn't get away with it, we have to-"

"i don't want to-"

"i'll help you o-"

"i don't wan-"

"you're never going to want to do anyt-"

"i can't right now pleaselouisjustSTOP!"

louis wishes he never opened his mouth. harry's crying again, rapid tears, and it's his fault. they sit there with a thousand miles between their legs and wait for the fire to smother out before moving. the silence is so loud that it's tangible. louis didn't mean to make harry upset, and he definitely didn't want harry to cry in this soundless, pitiful way.

"i didn't mean to come at you like that." louis mumbles, hoping it's enough to calm harry down and regain what little trust had been handed over.

"okay."

_"let me help you with that," it was more of a cocky growl than an offer for servitude as jacob's rough hands pulled and tore at harry's very favorite shirt. the cloth was off harry's shoulders and tossed into an obscure corner of the room within seconds. harry's vision was segmented, like each slow movement of his eyes captured a different photograph. the frames blended together in a jagged, fractioned motion and harry couldn't figure out which of jacob's five arms to push away or how to pull his pants back up or shout for help or-_

they don't talk much for the rest of the day.

\--------

louis feels pretty lowly, so he avoids any unnecessary communication with harry. he notices at one point harry rubbing at his stomach, so take a tube of medicine into the living room. he intended to let harry tend to his own wounds. instead, louis ends up on the couch with one foot tucked under his thigh, stripping harry's shirt and applying the cream himself. it's hard, finding another and another and yet another scratch deep in harry's smooth skin. each time louis pads his finger on a red spot, harry bites his tongue against the memory that flashes up.

louis feels wrong when harry's muscles tense under his hands, but he keeps massaging until he's covered harry's entire body. with specific care, louis fits harry's shirt back over his head and situates it on his shoulders. he pulls away with a chewed lip and a fluttered stomach, but now is most definitely not the time. later, as he nibbles on his noodle lunch from the safety of his kitchen, he keeps a wary eye on harry.

he can see the mop of disheveled hair peeking above the couch. still. quiet. staring straight ahead. it shatters louis' heart. he wishes with everything that he could make it better instead of making it worse.

he texts liam updates every hour. each message hosts the same letters in the same order: _he hasn't moved._ louis' heart rate is picking up speed as the minutes crawl by. it's tense. louis has never NOT known what to do. he can't handle this friction, the silence, the circumventing. he's just about to take another bite when harry changes positions on the couch and turns his head toward the kitchen.

"louis?"

louis' stiff fingers fumble with the bowl of noodles he's holding, and the plastic dome clatters onto the counter. louis thanks the lord the bowl is plastic. he quickly shoves the dish and the food off the counter and into the sink, where the loud noise is amplified momentarily.

"yes. yeah, harry." louis isn't asking for harry's next sentence. he's confirming his own presence, as if the gunshot from his bowl didn't do the job for him. louis peeks out from the kitchen and loses his next breath in harry's stare.

"i'm sorry."

"you don't have to apologize."

"okay." louis' fist clenches and harry can feel a tinge of vomit deep in his throat. "d'you want me to leave?" harry voice follows the regret pulling the edges of his lips towards his chin. harry's whole face seems dragged downward with a weight louis can't identify. like an alabaster statue crumbling under the pressure of existing.

"not if you don't wanna go."

"okay."

"okay."

neither boy moves, but some sort of consensus is made. and with the agreement, the rigid air that was once static between them marginally slackens. the burgeoning silence is disrupted with the grumble of someone's stomach. "do you want lunch?" louis asks in response, because it wasn't his stomach that was begging.

"no." because that was a completely different question than are you hungry?

marginally. the air slackened marginally.

\-------

night falls without another word passing between louis and harry. a million things had been dancing on louis' tongue, but he pinched the inside of his elbow to keep them in. harry wishes louis would just talk, so something would be louder than the bees rocketing around his eardrums. he needs something to be there, to be near and furnace that sweet warmth like last night. but harry also needs to be alone. every time louis turns the page of his book, harry's heart stops beating and his throat closes up and he starts to see stars.

harry declines dinner with as little syllables possible, leaving louis to feast on the remaining mcdonalds sandwiches from the fridge. the thought of food nauseates him; harry can't even swallow the idea of it. he hopes louis doesn't notice the two sandwiches harry threw away in the bathroom trash can, or else he'd force feed him.

louis doesn't fight it. space is what harry needs, but all louis has done is hog harry's oxygen and push his head back underwater. louis didn't know how to make harry float above this. after all, harry's a stranger. a beyond beautiful one albeit, but a stranger nonetheless. before last night, louis' and harry's worlds rotated in different atmospheres. they might have never touched, if things hadn't gone so horribly wrong.

there aren't many options other than sleep when 'dinner' ends. louis turns his bed down and moves the clothes from the bathroom to the bedroom. he lays them on the edge of the mattress and turns on the lamp. but when he comes back into the living room, harry's curled into the corner of the couch. closed eyes, open mouth, hands wrapped around his middle and feet tucked into the cushions.

louis doesn't wake him. he just digs out a collection of blankets from a closet. he cocoons harry in, but frowns when harry's slight shivers don't stop. it isn't cold outside, and it certainly isn't cold in the apartment. louis piles on layer after layer of fuzzy sheet anyway. when the process is over, it's nearly nine o'clock. early by anyone's clock, but especially early for a saturday night during summer. however, exhaustion pulls on louis' eyelids, so he ignores the single digits.

instead of taking the bed, louis manages to find a few more blankets hidden away, enough to make a pallet on the floor. he settles behind the couch with his back against the piece of furniture. it's not very comfortable. the tile is ruthless on louis' hipbones as he lays on his side, but if he bends his knees just right it's bearable.

he falls asleep to the harry's deep breathing. he doesn't wake up until late the next morning, to the sound of the television breaking into his dream.

\---------

"mmphf?" louis incoherently grumbles, wiping at the dried spit in the corner of his parted lip. he turns himself onto his stomach with a disheveled mind and sore arms. the fuck is he on the ground for and who is watching tv?

louis peers under the couch, where he can see a set of feet barely grazing the ground on the other side. his eyes focus right as his brain does. oh right.

he checks his phone before revealing his consciousness. it reads eleven thirty (louis is rounding down so he doesn't feel the day's been wasted) and he has a chorus of texts from his friends. liam's are more on topic that niall's are; the blonde must not know what's going on, because he's violently intent on figuring out who stole his foot cream.

 _niall, my dear friend, no one has nor wants your exotic foot cream. stop flattering yourself and look in your silverware drawer._ louis texts back because it's a group message with a few mutual friends. out of habit, louis checks to see if zayn's number is in there. it's not, and he wonders if they've only taken him out of group texts involving louis. he doesn't think about it for long, because there is another, more pressing matter at hand. he thinks instead that it's too damn early for all this damn fucking thinking.

he turns the ringer off when he's sent the message, uninterested in the reply for the moment. he's absolutely positive no one has the specially imported foot cream niall insists is doing wonders. if he had to guess, it's probably been accidentally tossed in with the spoons.

"morning." louis' voice is coated in sleep as he crawls out from behind the couch. he falls onto the arm rest and rubs his eyes, trying to figure out why harry's got the channel set on a table tennis tournament. harry doesn't give a verbal reply, of course. even if he did, louis wouldn't have heard it in his half-asleep state anyway. he does turn his head slightly, though, and louis catches that. it seems the air between them is lighter with the sun out.

it's quiet for awhile as louis slowly comes to, and harry holds a blank stare with the bright screen in front of him. louis holds a stare with harry's right eyebrow until his life comes back into focus, and it's the dark hair above harry's ridiculously green eye that does it for louis.

he's gotta fix this for harry. not only because it's what louis does, but because harry wasn't made for this. he wasn't made to have a dark sadness pull at the skin under his eyes, he wasn't made to chew his christmas lips to a swell, he wasn't meant to have perpetually wet eyelashes. harry was meant to sparkle. and if louis had to dirty himself with harry's grime so harry could shine, he'd do it. he will do it. it's what he does.

so he makes a decision that his heart had silently made the first night louis dragged harry out of the party house. but before louis can initiate the first part of his plan, harry does it for him.

"why'd you sleep on the floor?" he doesn't look at louis straight on when he says it. he casts a sideways glance, with a shyness that teeters on the edge of shame. louis sniffs once before answering.

"i dunno, i'd feel guilty for taking the bed." he explains simply, and perhaps on a normal day, at an acceptable time, he wouldn't admit something so humbling.

"oh." louis thinks harry might have said more, but harry's stomach spoke up in his place.

"didn't mean to starve you while i was sleeping, d'you want breakfast or lunch?" louis rubs the last bit of sleep out of his eyes and stands up, wandering into the kitchen without a reply from harry. he clamors around the cabinets, digging for pots and pans he knows he has somewhere. after a series of obnoxious bangs, louis peeks back around the corner of the kitchen to stare at harry.

harry turns, lips parted helplessly and eyes too uncertain to meet the blue ones' attention.

"i'm getting a breakfast vibe." louis concludes after extensive observation (which solely included guessing the slope of harry's nose) "you like eggs?" louis' question isn't rewarded with an answer, but louis has resolutely decided to ignore the static between him and harry.

louis makes the eggs. he scrambles them on account of not knowing how harry likes his fried eggs cooked, and adds bacon to the finished product for protein. louis is the last person to enforce the food pyramid, or even acknowledge its existence, but it's been awhile since harry has eaten. so he chops up the raw spinach liam keeps buying for him and mixes it in. when the meal done, louis presents the plate to harry.

"s'not much but bon a petite, yeah?" louis finds himself silently hoping harry will eat them, that he will like them and even go so far as verbally announce his pleasure. harry doesn't touch the fork that's next to the plate on the coffee table.

and it's not that harry isn't hungry. on the contrary, he's starving. harry can feel the demanding emptiness, taste acid in his throat. but there is no urgency associated with the pain.

he could've just said no. his voice worked, his lungs functioned. harry could've always just said no; _it's okay, you don't have to make me breakfast, i'm not hungry, maybe later, no thank you, please don't, stop, i don't want to, help, jacob stop, someone please please please make it stop-_

"i'm not that bad a cook, trust me." louis' voice is too loud for the space between them, and there's a hint of determination tacked onto his words that harry didn't catch before. it puts harry's nerves on edge. the bees are rumbling deep enough in his eardrums to be felt. but at the same time, the volume of louis' voice is the only thing keeping harry's nerves from diving off the cliff. he's just too afraid to get far enough out of himself to trust it.

harry knows louis is trying. louis is a stranger, just another college student scraping by in his illegally small apartment, and he's dropped everything to spoon feed harry and change his clothes. but louis is a stranger. he's got eyelashes thick enough to make a coat and one eyebrow is always raised slightly higher than the other, but harry doesn't know him. harry thought he knew jacob, and he'd fatally misjudged him. so louis packed a million threats in his dainty figure.

no.

harry doesn't say anything, but he thinks it. he has a stabbing feeling of de ja vu with a sharpness that makes his eyes water. louis blanches at the sight; he's done something wrong, he's made harry cry _again_. he rushes out an apology more scrambled than the eggs, desperate to pull the blame on himself. it's a problematic strategy he has, and it usually results in driving away every friend louis has ever had. niall used to fight with him about it. the sweet guy brought out the waterworks when louis pulled it on zayn, tearfully begging louis to quit. _"lou, you don't have to do it like this! you've not done anything wrong, stop making yourself look like the bad guy!"_ but louis' strategy works. it works every time. it costs louis everything, but it works.

with any luck, it'll work with harry too. louis would rather rip out his own teeth than let whatever is festering in harry, swallow him whole. it's a shame that the bow of harry's top lip is the prettiest thing louis has ever seen. louis would've liked to see it smile at his jokes, or feel it ghost across his own. his mission is more important than that, though. it always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's chapter one for ya. stick around to see if harry ever gets rid of those bees or if he ever laughs at louis' jokes! chapter two is coming out eventually, keep checking in to see my updates! xoxo


	2. in progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a formal feeling comes -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now presenting chapter two, hope you loyal readers enjoy it!

_glass shatters in the kitchen, and it's the sound of a broken heart. something heavy flies through the wall. it leaves a ragged hole in the plaster. a haunting scream jolts louis from his nightmares. it's the cry of a ghost who hasn't died yet. he stumbles out of bed and into the darkness. he's overwhelmed by the shrill sound of a million alarms going off. it's three am, it's three am, it's three am, it's three am and louis was_ fucking _asleep._

_he can't find any of the light switches. they're not there. he runs into walls and fumbles with doorknobs and trips down an endless hallway. he can see the end of the hall, he can see the bomb going off in the kitchen but each step yanks him backwards. he can't get there, and he already should've been. it's not his fault, but it is. he'll take the blame till the very end, but he didn't really want anything to be blamed for._

_he hears the clatter of pills being poured from their container. they fall to the floor and scatter into the hallway. another bottle smashes in the sink. a bullet rips through louis' heart. he calls out for zayn, begging him to just wait one fucking second but he's cut off. "YOU DID THIS TO ME!" zayn's fractured voice punches louis in the face, but he keeps moving. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" and if he could get into his fucking kitchen he could do something. but zayn is so far, he is too far, and the devil in his hand is already scooping the pills off the floor._

_louis trips over nothing and falls to the ground. he starts to crawl, bruising his knees and elbows as he pulls his body along. it's no use. the kitchen is miles away but the sounds are inches from his face. it didn't work this time._

louis bolts straight up and finds himself tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. he's breathing too fast and acidic tears are drying on his cheeks. he bites softly on his tongue until he calms down. it was just a dream. it didn't happen like that, louis knows it. liam was texting zayn just yesterday, because _that_ is how it happened. louis lost his friendship, zayn didn't lose his life. it did work this time.

it's only six o'clock in the morning, but louis' heartbeat is in his throat and it's no use trying to swallow the fear. he was up for the day.

he drags his body out of bed and washes his face in the bathroom. the shadows of bags lurk under his eyes, but he'll make up for it later. when the sweat is washed out of his hairline and his teeth stop chattering, louis goes into the kitchen. he's almost afraid to turn on the light, but he knows it will be empty.

louis pours himself a bowl of cereal and takes it to the living room. he planned on sitting on the sofa and watching crap telly until harry woke up, but his apartment suddenly feels too stuffy. he wants to clear his head before harry can see the broken memory in his eyes. he has to be stronger than this. it's been four days since harry made his temporary home in louis', and louis has learned a lot about the kid. he hasn't said much since louis made him cry. but louis has learned harry's the deepest sleeper in the entire universe. which is why eating cereal and watching teen court on the same couch as a napping harry doesn't disturb him. louis has also learned that harry notices everything. he spends the majority of the day with his knees tucked into his chest. his eyes pick a spot and study it for hours. his mouth only opens to answer yes or no questions as prompted. but he notices things.

so no, louis doesn't want that frantic gleam in his eyes to be there when harry opens his. harry won't mention it; god, he won't even mention when he's hungry. but he'll feel it, and he'll worry about it. he'll start to breathe a little faster, tilt his head like he's listening to something in the distance. he'll fold himself up even tighter, as if he needs to accommodate for louis' mood. like he's in the way or something.

louis slips past the couch and slides open the door to the terrace. it's a small one, hardly enough to even have a title, but it works. louis leaves the glass door open and sits against the wall. he munches on his cereal until it gets soggy. when it becomes too mushy, louis dumps the contents of the bowl over the railing and watches it splat on the concrete below. it lands right beside the car of his most detested neighbor.

he wastes time watching the sun crawl up the sky. he blinks, and the sky goes from a cautious blue to a blushing pink. he blinks again, and the clouds are purple. he hears a soft sound behind him and blinks again. when he turns, the clouds and the sun and the sky are lost to inconceivably malachite eyes. "hey harry," louis whispers because he's shocked. harry'd gotten off the couch and louis didn't even ask him to. harry doesn't say hello back, just looks at louis like he's trying to say something. louis moves over to make room. harry sits down gently next to him. their hips don't quite touch.

harry does something strange, then, and it makes louis' heart flutter. he leans over until his temple rests against louis' shoulder. he holds it there, just barely, and louis can feel harry's hair tickling his chin. louis doesn't dare move. he waits to see if harry will stay there before louis traps him into an embrace. harry does more than just stay there, though. he speaks. "thank you." his voice is so hushed, like he doesn't want anyone to know where the sound came from. all of the air louis had in his lungs vanishes.

"it's alright."

"i'm sorry."

all of the air rushes back into louis' lungs and he feels like a bomb has just gone off in his stomach. "no, harry it's really okay." louis doesn't think he's ever spoken so softly in his life. he's always been spontaneous and _loudloudloud_. it's always been fast movements and quick retorts and bright lights and blaring speakers, a million miles an hour for him. louis has never stopped to smell the roses, but now he's lost somewhere in harry's bitten, rose lips.

then the moment is over and louis decides metaphors are not his thing. he goes back to harry, who is not actually a flower. if anything, he's a wilting one.

"i don't know where else to go," harry admits, and it seems like louis is finally getting a peak into harry's head. louis wants to reach out and put his hand on harry's knee, but he can't. won't.

"you don't have to go anywhere." louis responds. "if my sorry excuse for a couch doesn't hurt your back too much, you can stay as long as you'd like." he tries to make light, but harry doesn't laugh. his face is a scary kind of blank and louis' nightmare comes flooding back into his mind. he sees stars behind his eyes and feels his stomach clench.

"or i can stop being a dick and let you have my bed." he throws in for good measure. harry swallows thickly, like he's trying to choke down a bundle of words pulling on his tongue.

"you don't even know me," and it's not an insult the way harry says it. it's not defensive or angry. it's just confused, which makes sense because that's how he feels.

"as long as you're not a satanist, mi casa is tu casa." louis is trying so hard to make harry's face change into ANYTHING. the lack of life behind his eyes is making louis' throat constrict. he just wants to see harry's cheeks blush; it looks like harry could have dimples if he smiled. "seriously. i'm happy to provide my mediocre assistance."

"it was my roommate." the ground falls out from beneath louis. the sky is gone, the balcony is gone, the wall louis is leaning against is gone.

"what?"

"jacob murs."

louis knows who that is. he's in the same year as jacob, they've had a few classes together. they sat next to each other in spanish, even shared notes. louis is grasping for something, something to say or do or touch. but harry has retreated a million miles into himself and louis is at a complete lack. "i-"

"my friend." his voice is mechanical, completely void of feeling. he sounds too calm for the implications his words carry. his upper lip is pinched ever so slightly, his nose subtly twitching. when harry blinks, he keeps his eyes closed too long. the blood comes rushing to louis' head as images of pills and scratched skin blots his vision. harry's eyebrows suddenly look a lot like zayn's the moment that it all came crashing down and louis can't do it. that can't happen again, not to this kid too.

"he is not your friend, harry."

"i lead him on." harry counters with the same cold tone. his words are pale, and they echo with a sad tremor. if they could be a color, they'd be a blue that's more gray than anything and it is _not_ beautiful. it is not charming. it is terrifying and it makes louis hate winter.

"no you didn't," and louis doesn't even know that. he thinks about harry's tongue and teeth and maybe-dimples and can understand. a platonic smirk with those lips would go straight to anyone's stomach. but louis couldn't imagine anyone looking in those eyes and seeing the fear they've caused. he feels nauseous. 

harry knows it's true, though. there are bees in his ears and they're louder than they were yesterday. he wants to bang his head against a wall and dig his ear drums out and scream until he spits blood. he thought he'd swallowed them when his stomach twisted around the dinner louis made. but they crawled their way back up his throat and they're lodged in his ears again. a few days ago, their buzzing made him want to hold his breath until he passed out. now, the heavy sound makes him want to bruise himself.

"you couldn't know that," harry's words are like snowflakes, but not the kind you catch on your tongue. they're sharp and biting and they're leaving louis' cheeks scratched raw.

"it's still wrong, even if that's true. no one should ever have to go through what you did." something in what louis said hit a nerve. he saw a shift in harry's eyes, a slight hardening in his pupils. and then, something terrible occurs to louis. "harry, was that... was he your first?"

silence. and then the heavens open up and the storm lets loose. harry's fist collides with the deck beneath them and his head flies into the wall behind them. louis flinches, startled by the sudden noise. tears that came from nowhere are already wetting his shirt. something in between a scream, a gurgle and a laugh bursts from harry's gritted teeth. there is no humor in the sound.

this is what louis has been waiting for. the first night was more of an implosion, louis thinks. he thought harry's first tears had crumbled mountains and flooded oceans but that was _nothing_ compared to this. this is an explosion. it's a livid red and louis is almost too afraid to touch it. harry is not far away anymore, he's right here. there is a white hot rage in harry's trembling lip; his silent days are a distant memory. he cries for a long time.

louis likes loud. he does. but this is not the lively sound of a blurry life, it's the sound of jagged stitches being ripped open. he didn't like harry cold and he doesn't like harry hot. where harry once had frostbite, he now has scorching burns. but underneath it all, he is so fucking beautiful.

louis follows harry's flailing arms, failing to keep them away from the rough surface of the wooden deck. harry keeps dragging the heels of his palms and relishing in the pain it brings. he's bleeding, it stings all the way up his arms and into his shoulders, but it's so good. he can't even feel louis' hands struggling to find a grip. he can feel, however, the twisted knot in his abdomen that won't go away. harry feels every place jacob touched him and his skin boils with the memory. he feels dirty.

"ha-" harry pushes against louis like a cornered dog, and he doesn't even know why. "harry, stop. will you just let me-" louis finally catches harry's wrist and he tightens his fingers around it. he yanks harry towards him but harry violently wrenches his hand away. like, so violently that louis' own hand flings backwards and then he realizes what he just did. "shit. shit! fucking hell harry i didn't- i didn't mean to, i-" harry has his hands clasped together in the middle of his chest and he's practically bending around them. "i'm sorry i just wanted you to stop scraping your hands up, i never-"

and here's the thing. louis' whole strategy rests on his ability to paint himself as the bad guy. he'd paste his own face on harry's demons before he let them become harry instead. but now he's actually done something wrong, he actually has something to be blamed for and harry's knuckles look a lot like zayn's did when he griped his bottles too tight.

and he may have just ruined every chance he ever had.

"i'm so sorry," louis says again, whispering, because harry is quiet and still now. he's waiting for harry to say something, because louis just can't be the cause of that distant cloud in harry's eyes. he knows that's kind of a part of his plan; to look like the bad guy. but that's just the thing. he only wants to look like a bad guy. he doesn't want to actually be a bad guy. that kind of guilt would eat him away, and he'd be nothing but a pile of bones on the floor.

but it doesn't really matter what his plan is, because it's not working. harry is not lashing out against louis, he's curling in on himself again. not in the aggressively self-loathing way zayn used to, but in a more passive way. louis thinks it's a little rude of himself to keep comparing harry to zayn. they're _nothing_ alike, and louis told himself he'd gotten over zayn. harry's a whole other person and it's not like he's louis' project or anything. he isn't just some basket case louis took on to help him cope with his past.

at first, it was instinct. he'd seen a disfigured mass in a bed that reeked of sex, he'd heard the blaring police sirens, and he'd gotten them both the fuck out of that party. then it was harry. the crumpled mass on the bed became a boy, a boy who had to have been hand-carved by god, a boy who's green eyes did not deserve to cry. louis could tell he had this magnificent light about him, but someone had stolen it and the whole world paid the price for it.

and now it's something more. it's an awful, awful time for it to be anything else but that's just louis' luck. he won't even admit it to himself, because the more important matter at hand is bringing harry's light back. louis can tend to his own fluorescent habits later.

"i didn't mean to force you towards me. i wasn't thinking, i was just trying to keep your hands from getting bloody. if you'd like me to leave you alone, i'll go back inside." louis hates how thought out each sentence was, but he didn't want to push harry any further into himself than he already was. it's silent for a few beats, but harry painfully runs his tongue across the bottom of his top teeth.

"please stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the sun sets on chapter two. it took a lot longer than planned to get this out, because my school is kicking my ass with homework! if your eyes are burning because this sucks, my sincerest apologies. if you actually dig the plot, chapter three will be coming out eventually so stay tuned! next chapters going to show more of harry's perspective in this whole thing. we're gonna take care of h&l somehow! xo


	3. the beehive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nerves sit ceremonious

the clanging dishes echoing from the kitchen is background noise to the sound of the bees. it's been five days since the morning on the terrace, and they're not going away with time. harry can tune them out sometimes, like when louis speaks to him in that gentle tone or touches his arm with benevolent fingers. but when louis is cleaning up after meals, or jogging, or sleeping, the bees are too loud.

harry doesn't know if he likes the sound of them or prefers their silence. it's strange. he knows the buzzing sound isn't actually there. he knows it's just a manifestation of his pain. when the bees are filling his brain, it physically hurts. but harry gets a sick sort of pleasure from it. he figures this is what he gets, what he deserves.

and when the bees are subdued, harry is just lost in confusion. he doesn't know why louis makes them quieter. he has no idea why louis' voice pushes his pain to the side. he doesn't even know louis' last name. harry has no reason to trust him, and probably shouldn't. in the mornings when louis brings him breakfast, harry's first instinct is to pull away and curl into himself. motion scares him. sound scares him. being alone scares him. waking up scares him. sleeping scares him. living scares him and so does dying and so does louis but then again louis fixes things and what the FUCK.

louis scares the shit out of him, but there's a gravity in his eyes. he looks at harry and at first there's pity, but it's so much deeper than that. harry can tell. something heavier shines in their blueness, something like compassion. and when harry tries to lose himself in that, he forgets about the bees. but they always come back. then nothing seems possible anymore, and he goes back to being scared of everything.

"hey there!" the loud and sudden sound startles harry from his thoughts. his shoulders jerk up and he almost bites through his tongue. louis' hand appears on his shoulder in a quick apology, and as louis slides onto the couch next to him, the sorry shows on his face too. louis is not great at being careful. he's sweet and soothing when harry is visually upset, but if harry isn't showing the signs of an emotional breakdown, louis kind of loses that.

those are the only times louis makes the bees louder.

he's holding a pen, a pad of sticky notes, and his phone, all haphazardly between two fingers. harry's immediate reaction is fear that louis will drop his phone again, adding more cracks to the already shattered glass. harry reaches out silently and slowly until he can reach the dangling phone. he takes it from louis' grasp, and the boy doesn't even seem to notice. louis is too busy watching harry with that special shimmer. it makes harry feel warm but it also makes it harder to swallow.

"i need you to do something for me," louis proposes. harry notes how louis' voice goes soft around the edges. harry just nods, because he's in the stage of visual communication. he hasn't worked himself back up to verbal, mainly because his throat is on fire. it has nothing to do with his habit of hyperventilation after louis goes to sleep. harry sets the phone on the table.

"write on this sticky note here," louis holds out the neon yellow paper and black pen. he waits quietly for harry to take them before speaking again. "just your building and dorm number." louis kind of rushes this part out with non-chalance. each word hits harry like a landslide of boulders. louis sees it, too. his eyes widen in fear and his lower lip goes in between his teeth like he does when he feels guilty for something.

it's gotten to the point where harry doesn't even realize he's crying. but his cheeks are wet and his nose is burning and he's watching louis' mouth because he can't hear him over the buzzing anymore. louis' lips are moving fast, making the same shapes over and over and over. a chanted apology. but he shouldn't be apologizing just because harry can't hold it together for like, one second.

"you can take your time," harry hears louis promise as he makes a move to get up. he wants louis to leave. louis is making the bees bad right now, and though it's not his fault, harry's head is going to explode. "i just want to go get all your stuff for you," louis explains, but he's out of the room after he says it.

 _oh._ louis was going to get harry's things. so harry could stay in louis' apartment. he was protecting harry, and harry made him upset. louis pulled that stupid, pretty lip in because harry couldn't let him finish his sentence.

he wipes off the tears with the back of his hand and takes the paper from his lap. he tries to keep his fingers from shaking as he scrawls. he moves slowly, pressing too hard and causing his muscle to seize up. he manages his address in handwriting louis can easily read.

then he crumples the sticky note and shoves it in between the couch cushions.

he pushes himself off the couch, relying heavily on his arms to do the work. he'd never admit that his body still hurt in certain places. he guesses that louis has escaped into his room and goes looking for him. he was correct; louis is bent over his dresser, digging with determination through the drawers. every few seconds, the lad pulls out a shirt and holds it in the air. he examines the clothes and either adds it to the growing pile on the floor, or drops it back in. harry watches him until louis notices his presence.

louis is kind of shocked and a bit hesitant, but he still flashes an encouraging smile. it helps. "i'm, uh, i'm shopping for more clothes. well, not shopping, seeing as i already bought them." he stumbles over his tongue. "i'm re-shopping, for you. but before you get flustered, it's only because i don't want to do the laundry!" louis covers his awkwardness with a joke, and harry is surprisingly endeared by the innocence of it. louis is complicated. he hides a lot of things that harry knows are weighing him down. he hides them well, too. louis only lets them show when he thinks no one is around to see. however, harry is very good at being quiet. he sees, and he wonders. louis usually charms harry out of worrying, though.

harry just nods and tucks a curl behind his ear. he feels weak standing up, even with his hand holding onto the door frame behind his back. he reminds himself that louis does not pose a threat, louis is good, louis wants to help, louis is pillaging his drawers for harry. luckily, louis doesn't expect a conversation.

his little pile of clothes for harry is completed after a few minutes of silence. if louis is being honest, the constant quiet is driving him nuts. he understands, he does. he wants to give harry whatever he needs, he'll burn down the world for him. but louis has never been so quiet for so long. it's taking a conscious effort and it's draining him. add that to his careful dancing around harry's emotions, and louis is just exhausted.

add THAT to the fact that louis has the most beautiful boy he thinks he's ever seen in his apartment. and that's just too bad, because he can't be around harry for more than a few hours without making him cry.

harry pushes himself off the wall because he can't watch louis empty his drawers anymore. it's his fault louis has to do it, anyways. louis sees the motion out of the corner of his eye. he's paying attention, harry can tell. louis always becomes sensitive when he thinks he's messed up.

"i can help you," harry offers, but his voice is smaller than he thought it would be. louis tries to hide his shock, and does a good job of it. harry doesn't register it at all, mainly because he's intently focusing on breathing.

"yeah, okay." louis glides over to create more space at the dresser. harry approaches like he's entering a tiger's cage, so louis stills until harry starts to rummage. "there's probably nothing your style in here," he mumbles and does not watch the bow of harry's slightly pouting lips.

they filter through shirts, shorts, boxers and sweatpants for what seems like hours. in reality, it only took a couple of minutes, and they didn't find much. most of the shirts couldn't cover harry's impossibly long torso, and the joggers wouldn't reach past his calves. louis looks at their finished pile and knows it won't last another week. he's gonna have to tackle the laundry. harry feels awful, but the lump in his throat keeps him from retrieving the sticky note from the couch. he could help louis with the laundry. yeah. that works.

"you listen to them?" harry picks up a certain shirt that catches his eye. it's a black one with the sleeves cut off in a sloppy fashion. louis turns to look at it, and his heart drops into his stomach. it's a band shirt, but not for any musician louis is a fan of.

"uh, no. it's not mine," louis knows he's being short with harry. he's hoping to leave the rest of the story unmentioned, but harry's eyes somehow look sadder than they were before. louis can't leave him hanging. "it's my friend's shirt. we had a... a falling out, and we don't keep in touch anymore." louis can't believe he's telling harry this. not even niall knows louis still has zayn's shirt. "it's stupid, but i kind of need it." louis hopes harry will understand what louis won't explicitly say.

harry does. he assumes this is one of the things louis keeps hidden to himself. he can feel the pain in louis' word choice, how careful he's being. but for some reason, he wants louis to trust him with this. harry doesn't want louis to feel the same self-hatred that's devouring him. he doesn't want to know what shade of blue louis' eyes get when they're about to cry. and harry's already been such a burden; he just wants to do something for louis to make up for it.

"it's not stupid." harry frowns. louis tries not to soften at his words, but he can't help it.

"we weren't even dating, it's fucking strange for me to have his shirt." why is louis saying this. he's supposed to be the one helping harry through his problems, not the other way around. but harry's eyes are not helping.

"why?"

"because he hates me."

"why?"

"does it matter?" louis works to avoid the question. harry is so uncomfortable, because he can feel louis' discomfort. but harry wants to do this one thing without letting the bees paralyze him. 

"yeah."

louis just looks at harry. the whole story is not an option. it's too long, it's amazingly depressing, it would trigger harry, and it would give away louis' strategy. but a shortened version of the zayn-and-louis-explosion wouldn't make much sense to an outsider who didn't see it go down. anyone who wasn't niall or liam just couldn't get it.

"i wasn't good for him." louis settles on, after an awkwardly long silence. "he struggled, with things that i couldn't help him with. i actually made it worse." louis gives a little laugh, but harry doesn't understand what was funny. "we fought a lot. he fought himself a lot. it was too much, so we stopped being friends so he could get better."

it wasn't a total lie. for a summary of a year long process, louis did a pretty good job explaining it to harry. louis notices harry has folded the band shirt and placed it back in the drawer, and it makes him smile a bit. "he's better, by the way. just not with me." louis decides very resolutely that this is the end of the conversation. harry takes the hint from louis' tone of voice and nods.

"thank you," harry says. the bees are quiet, so quiet he can hear the hurried way louis exhales in confusion.

"why're you thanking me for my overdramatic story about a t-shirt?" it was a joke, but it was also kind of genuine.

he's thanking louis for making the bees shut up, for trusting him with part of his big secret, for being real with him, for doing the laundry, for letting harry stay here, for actually caring. for everything. "i just am,"

louis doesn't press it, because this is the most harry has talked in days. louis thinks that maybe they're making natural progress, that harry is moving past the acute stage. he'd done some extensive research after harry's breakdown on the porch; harry was in the first phase of recovery, which was the recognition and initial reaction. the magnitude of what happened to him hit over time. he'd been stunned with disbelief, pain, and inner torture. essentially, he was in the phase of inactivity.

louis knows that the second stage is a more outwards expression of harry's pain. it isn't going to be easier than the acute stage, but it's a necessary transition. louis is going to have to work on his attentiveness before they get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around for another upload! sorry this is progressing slowly, i wanted to start with a deep look at each character's mindset before the plot sped up. get ready for some more action now!!! xo


	4. queen bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like Tombs -  
> The stiff Heart questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it takes me a ridiculous amount of time to upload, i have to focus on school unfortunately!

louis is no doctor. he does his internet research, every night actually. he grabs his laptop from the night stand and reads articles until his eyes droop. how to help rape victims through recovery, how to handle it legally, how and when to tell a victim's parents, etc. but no matter how many notes he takes, louis can't make harry better. it's already been two whole weeks, and louis is starting to understand how deep this really goes.

he had convinced himself that harry was transitioning from the acute stage into the outward adjustment phase. he had been wrong about that, but only slightly. turns out the acute stage has three sub-phases that harry should be expected to work through. he read about the first acute phase, which explains why louis found harry heaving quietly into a pillow on a friday night:

_louis didn't say anything. he hadn't been asleep long before he heard it. the low rumble, the desperate wheezing, the sharp choking noise. louis didn't know how he never heard it before, because surely this isn't the first. but this time, it pulled him from his senseless dreaming and yanked him into a nightmare. his zayn nightmare._

_it wasn't a nightmare, though. louis didn't fall down in the hallway and the walls didn't go on forever. it just took him a few short steps to get into the living room. it was dark, and he didn't say anything because he was listening to the mountains rumble. he couldn't see harry, couldn't even make out the shape of the couch. but the earthquake was all around him. four walls screeching and scraping together as they closed in around louis. he almost held his hands out to stop them from crushing his body._

_then harry yelped. the sound was so distinctly human, nothing like mountains or thunder or an earthquake. it was pure torment in the same voice that had told louis he wasn't stupid just days before. the sound wasn't loud; louis wouldn't have heard it from his room. harry must have smothered his face with a pillow or a blanket. maybe he bit down on his skin. louis had once seen an irritated mark on harry's hand and the curly haired boy had convinced him it was a scratchy pillow. louis had bought a new one._

_the cry jump started louis into action. without turning on the lights, he navigated into the kitchen to gather materials. a pill bottle, tissues, a glass of water, a small bottle of cough syrup (purchased by liam after louis noticed harry's morning coughing fits). then he hurried into the living room, flipping the dim lamp on, and watched harry try to stifle himself._

_"harry," louis' voice was barely above a whisper. harry was both shocked and embarrassed; louis could tell by the frantic way he tried to pretend none of this was happening. in the yellow light he swatted at his eyes and choked down large breaths of air. it was a terrible cover, but louis didn't mention it._

_harry was already laying on his side, facing out, legs tucked in as far as they could fold without hanging off the edge of the couch cushion. louis knelt beside his head and let him try to catch his breath. when harry was done sounding like he was suffocating, louis touched a tissue to his soaked face. the act was futile. harry was uncontrollably crying, occasionally shuddering as all criers do after they remember to inhale. louis kept holding tissue after tissue against the river of tears. he didn't care how long it took harry to stop. louis wasn't going anywhere that night._

then there's the second acute phase, which doesn't involve as many late night emergencies. louis has already noticed it in harry's actions, though harry is still kind of in between. things that used to make harry freeze up, don't anymore. or at least the reactions are not as dramatic. louis initially thought this was awesome. phenomenal, even. he'd been wrong about that too.

harry was and is still greatly affected by all of these things: loud noises, sudden movements, unexpected touching, certain words, and some nights he stays up until the sun rises with the tv on. the scariest night was the day after harry's nervous break:

_it was a saturday, and harry started playing a piano-heavy instrumental through his phone after the dinner louis made him. it was about nine o'clock; the sky was black but the stars were exceptionally bright. louis had the door to the balcony propped open with a soccer ball that had gone flat, its crumpled shape crammed between the door and the floor. otherwise, it would have swung shut. the song played for seven minutes. it was beautiful, and then it restarted. and then it ended again. and looped through again. and again. and then again. harry didn't hum along or make up lyrics as louis imagined harry once would do. he just sat on the floor and stared at his feet. curls threw shadows over his eyes. wouldn't respond to louis for hours. just let the song play on repeat until he fell asleep, his head falling back onto the couch._

louis can play that whole song on the piano, from memory.

and that saturday night was the night louis got royally pissed off, when he realized no part of this was ever going to be easy. harry wasn't coming to terms with the rape, he was just controlling his visible reactions. in other words, he was hiding it from louis. harry is so much different than zayn had been. harry never gets angry at louis, never even lets louis give him the bed. sunday evening, louis took a pillow and stretched himself out on the couch with every intention of sleeping there:

_when harry came out of his second shower of the day, louis' mouth was parted in slumber. harry looked with sad eyes as he realized louis already had bedhead. he didn't even realize he was staring until he bit down too hard on the skin of his thumb and the pain yanked him out of it. harry turned and looked down the hallway that lead to louis' room, but didn't consider the option for long. he pictured himself enveloped in the layers of louis' bedding, the comfort of being home, and denied himself the pleasure._

_he slid himself in the empty space between louis' feet and the arm rest of the couch. one look at the way louis was making himself as long as possible, and harry could tell what he was trying to do. unfortunately, louis did not have the height to pull it off. harry sat with his knees folded until he fell asleep beside louis._

zayn had thrown accusations at louis like they were darts and louis was the bullseye. and it didn't bother louis. not really. because that was the whole plan. but harry is nothing like zayn, and well, that's getting really annoying.

now it's the third monday since the party. harry walks into the kitchen where louis is scrubbing dishes. monday is cleaning day, and louis is usually the sole participator. so when harry peeps his head around the corner, looking painfully domestic with messy hair and sleepy eyes, louis doesn't even realize he's grinning. "morning," harry mumbles, voice impossibly deep. louis hums in response.

harry speaks voluntarily now, ever since he woke up with the piano instrumental playing at nine a.m. on sunday morning. he could not believe louis had kept it on at the same, loud volume for that entire night. it made harry feel terrible. louis was so nice all the time, giving up the comfort of his apartment for harry, who couldn't hardly fucking talk. it was like harry was a toddler again, needing a babysitter to take care of him all the time. the least he could do is give louis the pleasure of conversation. so he tries now.

harry picks up the wet dishes stacked sloppily in the left side of the sink and starts to dry them off. louis steps to the side to make room for him. "i wash, you dry?" louis confirms their strategy, looking up at harry through his fringe. harry nods, his hair bouncing. they work quietly, occasionally giggling when louis drops a bowl and soap flies everywhere. 

when louis hands the last soapy dish to harry, he glides to the other side of him and grabs a stack of bowls. his socks padding on the hard floor, louis begins to put the dishes away in the cupboard. if louis has to stand on his tip toes to reach some of the shelves, harry doesn't notice. harry really _doesn't_ notice, because he's focused on something else. louis has finished putting away all the dishes when he realizes harry is still scrubbing his hands under the faucet. louis watches him, leaning to the left to see around harry's broad shoulders.

harry pumps soap into his palm for what must be the fifth time and rubs his hands together like he's trying to spark a fire. he scrubs so hard louis feels the pain in his own knuckles. then harry washes the soap off, takes the damp dish towel and dries them off. he rubs the towel against his skin just as aggressively as he did the soap.

"hands clean enough?" louis' voice breaks a tension he didn't even realize had mounted. harry jumps, as if he forgot louis existed.

"sorry," harry says, sounding guilty. louis frowns at his tone; it's not something he has to apologize for or anything. "i didn't mean to use up your hand soap," harry takes one look at the bottle and realizes he used over half of it. guilt clouds his eyes but he's trying to keep his face controlled in front of louis' questioning eyes.

"s'alright, i've been needing to get a new bottle anyways." louis waves it off. but he can't help from staring at harry's raw hands, rubbed red with agitation. he thinks they're probably stinging, but harry's not showing any pain.

"i'll buy you a new one," harry says, though he knows he wouldn't leave the apartment to do so. louis knows it, too. harry won't even leave to get his clothes or his phone from his dorm room. louis is already shaking his head before harry can finish his proposition.

"they're pretty cheap, harry. i got it," louis confirms, but harry is not backing down.

"but you've not gone to work in weeks," harry points out, and it's true. it's concerning how true it is, actually. louis had called his boss a couple days after the party, explaining his situation in vague terms and asking for extended leave. thankfully, his boss is understanding and his co-workers don't mind covering for him. but that meant louis hasn't collected a paycheck in awhile, and he's been buying more groceries than usual. his bank account is approaching zero at an alarming rate.

"i'll steal soap from my friend niall's apartment. the bugger won't even notice." louis can't resist taking a shot at his close friend, but harry doesn't seem convinced. he just looks at louis with this gleam in his eye, like he'd done something terribly wrong and could never make up for it. louis hates it. it's this sad self-loating that's just floating around his pupils, sitting passively in his words. it's not aggressive like zayn's was, all flames and cigarette burns and smoke, but louis still wants it gone.

harry gives louis a small smile, like he's just trying to appease louis, before he walks out of the kitchen. louis hears the couch creak and the pages of a book rustle. at least harry hasn't gone back to unconsciously staring at the television to pass time; he's taken to the few books louis has lying around from various school assignments. louis stares at the ground where harry's feet were, and thinks.

harry is still internalizing the pain, most likely blaming himself and keeping the shame hidden. and louis is freaking out, because there is no plan b. harry blows past all louis' precautions, making him forget he even has a plan. louis sometimes finds himself staring at the freckle on harry's cheek instead of strategizing his method. and if harry ends up with a row of red stripes on his wrist because louis fucked up, louis will never make it.

so on tuesday, louis does something.

he tells harry he's going for milk. instead of taking a left on the main street, though, he takes a right toward campus. ten minutes later, he's staring at the entrance to the admissions office. through the double doors, he passes the front desk and waltzes into the room behind it.

"hiya lou!" angela pipes up from behind a mound of letters and envelopes.

"hey love, i see you've been having loads of fun." louis gauges the stack of papers on her desk with slight horror as he settles into the cubicle across from her.

"do you need your glasses? this is the opposite of fun," she complains, but her voice is as spirited as always. she stops shoving papers into the pre-addressed envelopes and rolls her chair towards louis' desk. "we weren't expecting you back today..." she poses her statement like a question, but louis doesn't respond right away. he masks his hesitation by trying to organize the mess cluttering his computer.

"i just need to look at something, i'm not supposed to work today." louis waves off her curiosity, hoping she'll take the hint. she does not.

"well aren't you the luckiest! what could you _possibly_ be doing that's more exciting than mailing university letters?" angela taunts him.

"literally anything, angela." louis laughs and finishes the conversation. angela is a sweet girl, a reliable co-worker, always enthusiastic to see louis and therefore a source of pastries during morning shifts. louis just doesn't have time to chitchat today, though, and angela finally catches on. she rolls her chair back to her own desk, and louis quickly logs onto the computer.

he scans through a few lists, clicking furiously through pages and pages of university data. he recalls a conversation he and harry had about harry's freshman year courses and finds harry's name on a biology register from last year. a few more clicks, a final one to print, and louis has all the information he needs. he swipes the papers out of the printer, folds them enough to fit in his pocket, and shuts the computer down.

on his way out of the office, he stops at angela's desk and picks up some of the envelopes she's already sealed.

"stealing school property now? is your summer that boring already?" angela jokes but doesn't take the letters back. she knows louis is going to mail them for her, because they're in the habit of helping each other out. angela brings louis delicious breakfasts. louis helps angela mail off papers because her job is undeniably the most boring of all jobs ever.

except louis isn't going to mail them off yet, because he needs them to get into harry's dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your views!!!! don't leave me yet, i have lots planned!


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